Rodrick the Bold Page 3

  The captain nodded once and began to slowly turn around.

  Muriel swallowed the urge to squeal with delight, for she knew they were not off the ship yet.

  When Rodrick had first seen the lass, he thought he had made a mistake. Her hair was not the fiery red he’d seen in his dreams. Nor were her eyes the color of emeralds and green grass. Nay, her hair was as gold as the sun and her eyes as blue as the deep sea.

  And she was even more lovely than the image that had spoken to him in the dreams. He could see that even through the blackened eye and swollen lip. He could not help but believe there were more bruises hidden beneath her torn dress.

  Even if she wasn’t Muriel, she was a lass in dire need of his help. ‘Twasn’t until he mentioned Charles that he knew she was in fact, Muriel McFarland. He could see the relief in her eyes.

  As the captain led the way to the top of the ship, Muriel clung to Rodrick’s arm with a deathlike grip. He could feel her trembling with fear, could hear her rapid breaths as she followed close behind him.

  As much as he wanted to kill the man in front of him, he worried more for Muriel’s safety. If he gave in to the urge to slice the captain’s throat, they could very well be found out before they left the ship.

  He kept a tight hold on the captain’s tunic as they took the ladder up. Once they were all three out of the darkness, Rodrick scanned the large open space. The gangplank was ahead and to their left.

  Rodrick gave him a slight shove forward, his dirk pressed against the captain’s back. They hadn’t taken two steps before someone noticed them. ’Twas the same man who had ordered Rodrick to take the crate below earlier.

  “Everythin’ all right, Cap’n?” the man asked, concern etched on his brow.

  The captain did not immediately answer, so Rodrick pressed his dirk more firmly into his back. “All is well, Domnall,” he replied dryly as he took a step forward.

  Just what gave them away, Rodrick didn’t know, nor did he care. The man gave a loud shout to his mates. “Protect the captain!”

  Soon, the deck was swarming with armed men, hell bent on protecting their captain as well as on prohibiting Rodrick and Muriel’s escape.

  Thinking quickly, Rodrick pulled the captain against his chest and placed the dirk against his throat. “Back!” he shouted to the approaching men. “Back! Or I swear I’ll gut yer beloved cap’n!”

  His words stopped the dozen men swarming toward him dead in their tracks. They were eyeing their captain, as well as Rodrick, undoubtedly trying to come up with a plan of action. ’Twas evident they could see in his eyes that his threat was no idle one; he was ready to act. Each of them took a step back.

  Keeping his breath steady, Rodrick looked for another means of escape, in case his first plan to walk down the gangplank failed. He could feel Muriel behind him, her hands still firmly clinging to his cloak. Her breaths were ragged, filled with fear and uncertainty.

  To his left was the gangplank; to his right were the stairs that led up to a platform anchoring one of tall masts. Under that platform were the stairs that took them below. He knew that if he retreated below from whence they’d just come, it would mean their inevitable deaths.

  “Back, I say!” he shouted again as one of the men tried advancing.

  Captain Seamus Wallace decided then to act in a most brave manner. Or foolish, depending on whom one might ask. “Kill them! Kill them both!” he shouted as he tried twisting his body around in Rodrick’s tight hold.

  The men lunged forward, but not fast enough. Rodrick gave a hard shove against the captain’s back, which sent him hurling forward. As he collapsed against his men, Rodrick grabbed Muriel’s hand and pulled her up the stairs to the platform. For the briefest moment, he thought of jumping off and into the cold water. But there was no time to ask Muriel if she could swim, and chances were they’d be caught or dead before they could reach the shore.

  “Up the mast!” he told her. Placing his dirk betwixt his teeth, he lifted her by the waist and shoved her up so that she could climb the mast. Thankfully, she did not argue or otherwise protest. Like a cat climbing a tree, up she went.

  He’d just grabbed the lowest rung when he felt the hilt of a dirk come down hard on his neck. Spinning quickly, with deft precision, he grabbed his own dirk and sliced the throat of the attacker. The man fell as blood spurted from the gaping wound.

  Rodrick sent him tumbling back toward three men who were standing behind their comrade. A moment later, he was scurrying up the mast and catching up to Muriel. Her feet had tangled in her skirts, but she was quick to hang on and right herself.

  Once they reached the top of the mast, with men clambering up after them, he unsheathed his sword, removed the belt and wrapped it around his wrist twice. Taking the end, he flung it over one of the ropes. “Hold on!” he told Muriel. She draped her arms around his neck without uttering a word.

  With her clutching him tightly, he grabbed the end of his belt, wrapped it around his other hand, and gave her a nod. “Do no’ let go!”

  Most of their pursuers were still climbing when he jumped. Down the rope they slid, with Muriel clinging to him with all her might. Rodrick clamped his dirk betwixt his teeth and held onto his sword.

  They were halfway down when he let out a shrill whistle, not an easy feat considering the dirk betwixt his teeth. But he managed the whistle: a signal for Caderyn to come at once.

  As soon as they were near the plank, Rodrick let go. They landed hard on the deck, just a few steps from the gangplank. The fall forced Muriel to let go. He landed on his back; she landed on his front.

  Rolling her off, he jumped to his feet, helped her to hers, and shoved his dirk into her hands. Two men with swords drawn were advancing toward them. With Muriel behind him, he braced his feet apart and readied himself for a quick battle.

  The first man charged forward and was met with Rodrick’s sword plunging into his belly. As his attacker fell, Rodrick withdrew his sword quickly and sliced the chest of the second man.

  “Run!” he shouted over his shoulder to Muriel. “I will be right behind ye!”

  She did not wait for him to tell her again. As fast as she could, she ran down the plank toward the dock.

  With his heart pounding against his chest, he quickly subdued two more attackers before making his own escape down the plank. Muriel was heading in the wrong direction.

  And Caderyn was not waiting for them.

  Rodrick could hear the thunder of heavy footsteps making their way down the plank in fast pursuit. He soon reached Muriel and grabbed her hand. She squealed once until she realized ’twas he and not one of the men chasing after them.

  “This way!” he shouted as he pulled her off the main street and into a dark alley.

  “Wheest!” he whispered loudly as he pressed his back to the wall. When Muriel didn’t move, he took her about the waist with his free hand and gently shoved her against the wall next to him.

  They each held their breath as they listened to the sounds of shouts and booted feet racing down the cobblestone street.

  Rodrick counted to ten before letting out his breath.

  “Stay here,” he whispered whilst he took a chance to look around the corner. More men were heading their way.

  He pressed them farther into the darkness of the alley and they waited for the men to pass. They waited with pounding hearts and sweat-covered brows, while Rodrick planned out their next effort.

  Once he felt certain no more men were coming from the ship, he took her hand in his. “We have to get to the ferry, and quickly,” he told her.

  Muriel nodded once, her eyes still filled with a good deal of trepidation; otherwise she didn’t utter a sound.

  “But first, I have to find me bloody horse!” he whispered harshly.

  Once he felt certain they could leave the alley, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll have us off this island soon, lass.”

  “Who are ye?” she finally asked.


  Her voice was soft and low.

  “I be Rodrick,” he replied as they made their way toward the dock. He whistled again, not quite as loudly, in the hope that Caderyn was nearby and would finally answer his call.

  They passed by the tavern where he’d left his horse earlier. Candle and torchlight spilled out of the window, along with boisterous laughter. But no sign of his mount.

  “Bloody damned horse,” Rodrick hissed under his breath.

  They came to the end of the block, where he paused to peer around the corner. He could see no signs of the men seeking them, so he pulled Muriel along. They walked swiftly toward the docks, all the while Rodrick cursed Caderyn for not responding.

  When they came to the end of the last block, he stopped to look once again.

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath.

  “What?” Muriel asked, looking quite fearful.

  He had no desire to tell her their pursuers were waiting for them at the ferry.

  The two of them had to get off this island tonight. Otherwise, there was a good chance they’d not survive until morning. The men were just as hell-bent on finding him as he was on getting off Skye.

  Although he couldn’t hear the conversation taking place between the shipmen and the ferry captain, he could tell that none of them were happy. There was much blustering and shouting and cursing taking place betwixt them.

  His mind was racing for a way to get past the men and onto the ferry, when he heard the sound of a horse slowly approaching from the west. Shoving Muriel behind him, he ducked back behind the building. Though ’twas doubtful it was one of the men set on killing them, one couldn’t take too many chances.

  A few short moments later, the muzzle of a familiar-looking beast poked around the corner and snorted.

  Chapter Three

  If Rodrick hadn’t been so relieved to see Caderyn, he would have sent him a slew of blistering curses. “Well, it be about bloody time!” he ground out as he took the reins. The animal snorted again, as if to say he didn’t care how Rodrick felt about his delay.

  Muriel bit her lip to keep from laughing at the duo whilst Rodrick studied the scene at the ferry dock. He knew they’d be casting off in a matter of moments. He had no desire to delay their expeditious retreat from Skye.

  Two men departed the ferry, looking upset that they hadn’t caught their prey. One of them threw his hands in the air and shook his head. To which the captain said something, most likely along the lines of I told ye so.

  Soon, one of the captain’s mates was pulling up the gangplank whilst another was loosening the heavy rope that moored the ferry to the dock.

  “Lass, we will be leavin’ now,” Rodrick said as he lifted her onto Caderyn’s back. Climbing up behind her, he clicked his tongue to urge Caderyn forward. A moment later, they were racing down the street, heading toward the ferry.

  Their pursuers stood in wide-eyed amazement when they saw Rodrick approaching at a full run. They waved their hands in the air and shouted, hoping to unsettle the horse. They could not have known Caderyn was a well-trained war-horse.

  The gangplank had been withdrawn, the ferry unmoored; it was now being pushed away from the dock.

  They would have to jump.

  Muriel sucked in a deep breath and held it. There was no time to point out to Rodrick that the gangplank had been removed or to beg him not to do what she was certain he was thinking of doing. Rodrick kicked the sides of his mount before giving out a great war cry.

  As they neared the ferry at breakneck speed, she closed her eyes, sucked in another deep breath, and waited to plunge into the cold water. It seemed like her stomach fell away when they leaped into the air. She felt an eternity passed whilst they were suspended in air.

  Then she felt them land on the deck of the ferry and skid to an abrupt stop.

  Rodrick dismounted first, then was forced to pry her fingers away from the saddle. She’d been holding on with a deathlike grip.

  “’Tis all right, lass,” he told her as he forced her fingers away one at a time. “We landed safely.”

  Slowly, she opened one eye, then the other. Her breath came out in a great whoosh when she saw for herself they were safely aboard the ferry. As Rodrick helped her down, she saw and heard the men on the pier shouting at them and waving their fists in the air.

  Rodrick handed the reins off to someone before helping her to a safer spot near the rear of the ferry. She all but collapsed to the floor amid a pile of crates and sacks of grain.

  Her hands began to shake and her teeth to chatter, more from the shock of what had taken place in less than half an hour.

  Rodrick soon returned and knelt beside her. “Wheest, lass,” he whispered softly. “Ye be safe now.”

  She watched through teary eyes as he removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. Safe.

  How long had it been since she’d felt truly safe? A year or more?

  Although she tried valiantly to keep the tears from falling, ’twas an impossible task. “Thank ye,” she told him through chattering teeth.

  He smiled warmly and patted her shoulder.

  “Does Charles wait fer me on the other side?” she asked as she wiped away tears with the back of her hand.

  His smile slowly faded, replaced by a look of sadness and concern.

  “Where is Charles?” she asked as her chest grew tight. From the look on his face, she knew.

  “I be so sorry, Muriel,” he said.

  “Nay,” she cried. “Nay!”

  Rodrick drew her into his arms as she wept against his chest.

  They stayed there for a long while with night falling, the clouds covering the stars in a blanket of darkness. The winds blew in, bringing with them a light rain that chilled her to her bones.

  Once she had regained some composure she asked what had happened to her brother. Rodrick was reluctant to tell her the truth. He would rather lie to her full out than let her know her brother had betrayed his clan. Deciding not all the details were necessary just yet, he gave her a half-truth.

  “Our chief’s wife, Rose Mackintosh, was kidnapped by the Bowies. Charles died during the attack to rescue her.”

  Muriel sniffed and wiped her face on the cloak. “He died fighting bravely then?” she asked for clarification’s sake.

  Rodrick cleared his throat once before answering. “I was no’ there. I had been injured and was recovering. But I am certain he died fighting.”

  If she sensed he wasn’t being completely truthful she made no mention of it. “How did ye ken of me? How did ye ken where to find me?”

  “Before he died, he told our chief what had happened to ye, that ye had been kidnapped and were being held fer ransom.”

  She nodded once. “I thank ye, Rodrick, fer comin’ fer me. I ken that were Charles here, he would thank ye as well.”

  He refused to speak about what Charles would or wouldn’t do.

  “Rest now, lass. ‘Twill be a few hours before we reach land.”

  The waves crashing against the ferry, the constant heaving up and down made Muriel sick to her stomach. Exhausted, bruised, and now consumed with grief at learning of her brother’s death – it was all too much. Twice she had to lean over the side to vomit.

  Rodrick didn’t know how to truly comfort another person, for he’d kept his own heart well-guarded over the years. Still, he tried, but to no avail.

  As he silently watched the lass fight with seasickness and grief, he felt deeply sorry for her. What hell and torment had she gone through these past months? What had Fergus done to her? Those were questions he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answers to. Not because he was fearful of the truth or that he might think less of her. Nay, he was fearful he’d leave her in the first village they came to and head back to Skye to kill every last individual who had caused her harm or strife.

  And there were too many people who had done both.

  Most of his life had been spent around battle-hardened warriors. Men who faced
death on a daily basis. Men who fought alongside him in rain, snow, or good weather. They were not the kind of people who shared any tender or gentle sides of themselves.

  Therefore, he was at a complete loss about what to do or say to Muriel. He knew not what he could do to take her pain away, but take it away he would. He found himself making that silent promise halfway across the sea, as she cried and vomited and trembled from cold.

  Someday, somehow, he would find a way to make her life better.

  Chapter Four

  On the off-chance Captain Seamus Wallace and his men might have decided to follow them, Rodrick and Muriel took off at breakneck speed as soon as they landed in Toscaig. ’Twas black as pitch, with only the stars lighting the way.

  Whilst he would have preferred to find a room at an inn to allow Muriel time to dry off and get warm, he dared not chance it. He wanted to put as much land between them and the captain as possible.

  Muriel rode in front of him on Caderyn. Though she wore Rodrick’s cloak, she was still quite cold. Even after he wrapped his plaid around them and drew her in, her teeth chattered.

  For hours they rode like the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels. South through open glens, dense forest, and even a few barley fields. Over hill and through streams, as fast as Caderyn could take them.

  They stopped only once to rest, at the edge of a small forest, to stretch their legs and allow Caderyn a respite. Muriel stepped into the woods for a few moments of privacy. From where he stood he could hear her retching.

  “Muriel?” he called out. “Are ye well?”

  He heard her muffled reply. “Aye.”

  It was a long while before she returned, leaving him beset with concern. If they were being followed, he did not want to be caught unawares and out in the open. He knew the safest place for her was the Mackintosh and McLaren keep. Therefore, he made the decision to keep going.

  Just before dawn, they reached the fishing village Camhanaich. If he kept going, they could be back at the Mackintosh keep by the nooning hour. He knew Muriel had tried to sleep, but ’twas next to impossible, considering the speed at which they were travelling.